


The Problem with Stage Five

by Skysbringer (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:23:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1345663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Skysbringer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Friday, video-game night as usual, until Harry decides that he's cold and decides to wear Louie's sweater... and not much else. Denial ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Problem with Stage Five

“Hurry up, Harry!” I call, from the small kitchen, before shoving another handful of crisps into my mouth.

“I’m already here,” comes the reply, and I nearly jump out of my skin, using every ounce of my self control to stop myself from spraying soggy potato halfway across the floor.

When I finally get my breathing under control, I gulp down the mouthful, wincing slightly as the rough edges scratch against the roof of my mouth, turning around to my best mate. “Jeez, Harry, you...”

The words die in my throat as I take him in, and even though I know it’s inappropriate, my eyes drop down to his naked legs to find that yes, he is, in fact, wearing underwear with that getup. I quell my disappointment. Wait, disappointment? No, no, I’m relieved! Taking a peek at another man’s junk is something I’ve never ever wanted to do, especially Harry’s junk.

“Dude, you’re staring,” is all he says, crossing the room, the wool of the jumper sliding along his - smooth, satiny - skin, revealing tantalizing glimpses of darker ink and faintly-legible patterns, and when he grabs a handful of crisps himself I gape, my gaze drawn inexorably from his bare legs, dusted faintly with hair, to the swooping neckline of the jumped, nearly exposing his chest, to the soft curve of his lips as he chews and the bob of his adam’s apple as he... swallows.

My mouth dry, I look away, trying to find something, something else, something that isn’t Harry, with his soft curls and smiling blue eyes and bare chest and- Focus, Louie!

“Ready to keep playing?” he asks, and the moment I look back at him, I regret it, because his lips are parted in a sinful grin, blue eyes twinkling, with the tiny dimple at the crook of his mouth that I want to... to touch, and to feel, and to... kiss?

“Yeah, sure,” I cough, and my voice sounds scratchy and rough to my own ears, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice - thank God - and pads out of the kitchen, and I follow, eyes drawn to the near-hypnotic movement of his ass, as his legs move and his hips sway ever so slightly, left, right, left, right.

He flings himself down on the couch, patting the seat next to him, before picking up his controller. “Ready to pick up where we left off?”

I swallow a few times before I’m confident enough to speak. “Harry, why are you wearing my stuff?”

He blinks at me, confused. “I’m cold, Louis.”

“Then, then, why...” I gesture ineffectually at him, “Why are you...”

His brow furrows, as if I’m being stupid. “Dude, it’s too warm for just wearing a jumper, so I had to compensate. Now,” he turns the full force of his grin at me, and I’m so distracted I barely catch his next words, “Are you going to sit down or should I just play with myself?”

When the secondary meaning of what he just said filters through my brain, I drop down next to him, my retorts along the lines of “That makes no sense, idiot,” dying on my lips, pretending that all I feel is disgust at Harry’s dirty joke, but for some reason, when I do so, a weird expression flashes across his face, as if he was looking forward to doing it while I watched, but that’s impossible because Harry is the straightest guy I know, and anyway, I’m not interested. Totally.

We play but for some reason, I can’t concentrate, gaze drawn to Harry’s hair, to his hips, to the way the faint glimpses of tattoos shift as he moves, as he breaths, the way he sighs whenever I die, which, considering how distracted I am, happens a lot.

“Tommo, you’re completely off your game,” he huffs petulantly, staring at me, accusing, but I have no answer to give him apart from “I’m sorry, I was looking at you,” and that sounds creepy and completely stalkerish so I just smile sheepishly and get back to playing but it **doesn’t work** and I find my gaze straying back to Harry-

“That’s it!” he calls, throwing his controller down in disgust, turning to me. “Look, mate, you’ve died five times in as many minutes, and we’re never going to finish this stage tonight if that’s the way you’re going to play. We’ve been stuck at this checkpoint for like...” he checks the time, “The past hour, and frankly, I’m bored.”

“Well, maybe if you’d distract me less, it would be easier for me to play!” I snarl, before freezing, realizing what I just said, and as Harry’s brow furrows, a delicate crease of confusion appearing, I desperately try to think of a way to laugh this off because I just admitted to him that he’s got an effect on me and that’s fucking weird.

“I mean,” I start, floundering for words, “If you’d maybe breathe softer-” That’s so stupid, Louis, he’s gonna see right through it “I mean, whenever I’m going to shoot something you make this kind of big exhalation, like...” I demonstrate, but I trail off when I realize Harry’s staring at me, wordless, and I resolutely ignore the blush spreading across my face.

“What do you mean, I distract you?” he asks, softly, and his eyes are open and trusting and fuck me because I can’t lie to him. Not like this, not to Harry.

“I can’t...” I start, but avert my gaze as my face flushes. I’m not gay. It’s not like I’m attracted to guys or anything. I like girls, I swear, I mean with Eleanor and all that. But when I look at Harry again, trying to remember kissing Eleanor, instead of hazel eyes, I see vivid blue eyes staring right back at me.

Harry moves closer, and my breath hitches, because he’s doing the lean, the lean he does when he’s really into someone and wants to kiss them but he’s stopping himself, and I know what it is because I’ve seen him doing it so many times...

Because I look at him all the time, okay? It won’t hurt to admit it. Whenever we’re together or even alone, I look at Harry. And that’s perfectly fine. I mean, he’s my best bud, it’s not like I’m interested in him or anything, even though that one time when he kissed me I had to turn away because I would’ve kissed him back-

I only realize I’ve been slowly leaning closer when I feel his breath slowly ghost over my lips, and I nearly draw back, but Harry’s staring at me with so much affection and tenderness and something else, too, and he says, “You can tell me anything, Louis, I swear I won’t get pissed,” and at that moment something clicks.

“Anything?” I ask, and his eyes widen, as if he’s realizing that this is it, this is going to happen, and for one, terrifying moment I’m afraid that he’ll turn away and laugh it off, like oh Harry, that jokester, we all love him.

“Yes.” he says, and I don’t know if he’s answering my question or giving consent but it doesn’t matter because I’m moving closer and my lips are on his and he tastes like crisps, salty and tangy but with an undercurrent that’s soft, reach, and so indefinably Harry.

When he draws back I can’t stop the soft noise that escapes me, and he looks at me with something really fucking close to fear in his eyes, and my heart starts pounding.

“Shit,” he says, and his eyes are darting, looking anywhere but me, and it’s as if my heart is breaking into tiny, tiny, pieces, and I can’t breathe when he says, “Shit, Louis,” so I kiss him again, because all I can think of is how soft his lips are.

He’s frozen, unwilling, but then, with a soft sigh into my skin, he melts, and his arms come up around me as my arms unfurl around him, and he draws me in closer, fingers clutching at my back, and my fingers pull at his long, silky hair, every bit as soft as I’d imagined it to be, fisted in the quite frankly ridiculous jumper he’s decided to wear.

When his lips part, I’m nearly taken aback by the primal current of yearning, of _need_ , that sweeps through me, and I’m on him, swiping my tongue across his mouth, and he keens softly before his tongue reaches out to meet mine, and I can taste him, our flavours intermingling, and sure, it tastes like salt and vinegar but I’m kissing **Harry** and I couldn’t give two shits because it feels so good.

When we finally unentangle, gasping for air, all I can think about is how I can play it off, make it to be some kind of joke, an experiment or something, how we can pretend nothing happened and go back to being best friends and nothing more, but then Harry pulls me close and he’s shaking more than I am and the last of my half-willed resistance fades away.

Whatever I am, I’m definitely not straight, because that single kiss was better than every single other kiss I’d ever had combined.

“Louis, I’m not gay,” he says, but it’s weak and ineffectual, and when he pushes me back I see tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “I swear, that was just a mistake, it won’t happen again, I’m so sorry, Louis-”

I cut him off by pressing another kiss, chaste this time, to the corner of his mouth, and he sighs, but I have to make sure this is what he wants, because already, if he says no, I know it’ll take me time to recover, and I don’t even want to know what’ll happen if we take whatever this is further and he decides he doesn’t want it anymore.

“Look at me, Harry,” I say, as gently as I can, my voice raspy with desire, and after a moment, he does, that cerulean stare meeting my own, and his eyes are so breathtakingly open and vulnerable that I nearly forget what I wanted to say, but I plow through it. “It wasn’t a mistake for me.”

His eyes widen, and he stares at me, and I wait, heart in my throat, until a soft, gentle smile blooms across his face, and he pulls me close and breathes “I’m glad,” so softly that I barely hear it, and I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

When we pull back, reluctantly, I study his face, his mouth, his eyes, his nose, and I can’t think of anything to say so my mind defaults to the matter at hand.

“So, are we going to finish this level before we do anything else or not?”

Harry snorts, and something shifts, and sure, we’re both really attracted to each other, and maybe, just maybe, there’s something new and unexpected but not unwanted developing between us, but he’s still Hazza, still my bro, my mate, and if he wants to finish this level, damn straight we’re going to finish it.

And if we do happen to take a short breather, and somehow, my hand finds itself in his hair again, and we’re locking lips again, kissing desperately, so what?

**Author's Note:**

> So... this was written based on a prompt by the amazing lizzie-mcguire:  
> Louis and Harry are playing video games and then Louis gets all cold so he kinda crawls to Harry but Harry doesn’t know what to think (Let’s say they’re both “straight”) But so Louis goes and gets one of Harry’s sweaters cause it always warms him up but he takes off all his clothes except for the sweater and… Whatever happens happens ;) 
> 
> If you haven't noticed by the mixup of character names, I heavily deviated from it (see: accidentally ignored it). In any case, I hope you've enjoyed it; Any feedback is welcome


End file.
